


The Silver Shackle

by Arilanda



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft, World of Warcraft - Various Authors
Genre: Black Temple, Demon Hunters, F/M, Gen, Minor Retcon, World of Warcraft: The Burning Crusade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-23 00:05:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12493924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arilanda/pseuds/Arilanda
Summary: A young night elf flees home only to find herself whisked away to the dying world of Outland, where she is made to be a companion for her new demon hunter master.





	The Silver Shackle

    The night elf shivered helplessly in the arms of her savior as she awoke from yet another bout of unconsciousness, her distressing condition a product of starvation and fear. Had these strange men not found her wandering Felwood alone, it would surely have become her grave, forever unknown and unmarked, her bones to be gnawed and scattered by scrapping felpaw wolves. This dingy realm she presently found herself in looked nothing of the lush and vivid landscape of Ashenvale, the forest she once called home. No, this alien land was barren and ugly, crying out in agony as fel slowly rotted it like a necrotizing limb, corrupting and deforming everything it touched, including her rescuers. Their eyes smoldered the same sickly green color which crept from the soil and flickered in meteors which soared across the sky.  
  
    The shadow of a battle-scarred stone fortress overtook them. They spoke nary above a murmur, in a tongue that was foreign to her, but she recognized trepidation in their voices. Their anxiety compounded her own mounting uncertainties—who they were, where they were going, what they planned to do with her—and an unwelcome panic settled in her mind. _"I never should've left,"_ she thought.  
  
    A smooth, regal voice called to them haughtily. "Ah, my ever-faithful subordinates return to the temple at long last, offering in-hand."  
  
    "We're square now, Farellion," one replied, annoyed.  
  
    " _Not_ until I've inspected your quarry." When the men hesitated, the mysterious figure appeared from the dark ahead of them with two staccato claps. "Posthaste, gentlemen, I haven't got all night." The girl resembled a twig and crumpled like one under the weight of her own body, much to the chagrin of her rescuers who instantly bowed their heads. Farellion was visibly irritated. "On a continent named _for_ and full _of_ Kal'dorei, this sickly... _thing_ is what you bring me? Look at her!" He gestured wildly, angrily with his head and hands toward the terrified girl at their feet. "Pity's sake, she's practically dead!"  
  
    The other dared to speak up, and the three of them began to yell. At its zenith, their shouting match strayed from elegant Thalassian to vicious snarls in what the girl knew had to be a demonic language. What were these men? Their heads bore the horns of demons, their tongues spit the words of demons, but they were, by all means, certainly still elves of some kind.  
  
    "Fine," Farellion finally yielded. "Your debt is forgiven, but know this: Cross me again and there will be no bargains, no favors, no pleading..." Tattered wings lurched from his back, spreading as he leaned in, an ominous whisper edging past his bared fangs. " I will feed you to the felhounds _myself_." With a single graceful swoop, he vanished, seemingly into thin air.  
  
    When the dust settled, the girl's rescuers begrudgingly carried her inside, an ocean of satyrs and demons parting before them, wary of their ravenous gazes. There was an unmistakable, shameful fear in them which shook the night elf's composure. These men must have been some horrific manner of creature for _demons_ to fear them. These thoughts vacated at the sound of grinding stone, the door ahead of them opening to reveal a bustling chamber full of cheerful revelers. A potent incense burned, shrouding the cool, crystalline light of a golden chandelier at the center of the room, and nearly masking the scent of food which made her stomach pine. Filigreed candelabras and hovering crimson gems warmed the air and atmosphere, glittering sapphire and burgundy drapery flowed from the ceilings, alabaster statues of dancing elven women stared amorously at passersby... She'd never known such sophistication. What was this place?  
  
    Her rescuers stopped after having circled around to a higher floor which overlooked the entrance, dropping her carelessly onto a mound of plush pillows at the feet of a human woman. "You, clean girl," one demanded in broken Common. They shifted uncomfortably, sprouting familiar wings before diving from the balcony.  
  
    The stranger examined her, pity weighing at the corners of her mouth. She wasted no time doing what was asked of her, taking the girl to a fountain to wash the filth from her body, raking through the knots in her long hair, disposing of her ragged clothes and dressing her in a gown of white silk. The world around her moved in a blur until the human announced with a relieved sigh that she was finished, and just in time for the men who had dragged her there to return.  
  
    The scent of fine wine and food carried on the air beside the sounds of music and trickling fountains as they carried her by her arms, her feet occasionally dragging in her frailty. They repeatedly barked an order at her she could not understand, cruelly insisting that she walk. "A pathetic display, even now," Farellion chuckled ahead of them. The handsome elf sprawled comfortably across an ornate chaise, a concubine tying his platinum hair behind him. He coldly dismissed her and motioned for his colleagues to step forward. They set the girl down on a floor pillow and, once again, she was talked over in an unfamiliar tongue. Soon enough, her escorts departed, and all that separated her and the mysterious man was a table piled high with fruits, breads, and hot fish. "Go on, eat," he answered her unspoken question in Common. It so surprised her that she hesitated against the wishes of her empty stomach.  
  
    With time, her voracious appetite was sated, and the strange, tattooed man invited her to sit beside him. "What is your name?"  
  
    She cautiously calculated a space between them before she sat. A mocking smile grew on his face. She was so small, he thought, deliberately and incidentally, her arms folded close to her hunching torso as if she was trying to disappear into what little of herself there was to speak of. "Adorelyia," she responded simply.  
  
    "Pretty," he mused, finally garnering her full attention. "And where are you from, Adorelyia?"  
  
    Her reply came more readily now that he'd displayed some semblance of friendliness. "Ashenvale, but me and my sisters left to live in Darnassus."  
  
    Farellion inclined his head and gave an acknowledging nod. "Tell me, then, what you were doing all the way in Felwood. That's certainly no place to be traipsing around by yourself."  
  
    Adorelyia's brow jumped with surprise at his having known where she was, but gradually lowered as she thought back. Her stare fell to her lap, her chin to her chest. "I... I ran away." Her voice was colored with shame.  
  
    "Why would you go and do a fool thing like that?" His chastising tone softened when he saw her dress become stained with tears. "Ooh, come now," he cooed, pushing a lock of her cerulean hair away from her face and gently tucking it behind her ear. "Let's forget that unpleasant mess for the moment, little flower. Wipe your face."  
  
    His words of encouragement met her ears on a commanding breath, and she did as she was told with a sniffle. "Who are you?"  
  
    "Forgive me, dear," he laughed momentarily, taking her hand and patting it, "here I am asking you for your life story, while I haven't given you so much as my name." He brought her hand to his chest, still clasped between either of his. "You may call me Farellion."  
  
    Adorelyia took this moment of closeness to have a better look at him. He wore a blindfold, and yet, it appeared he had no difficulty navigating the world. An emerald flame burned from beneath the cloth where his eyes might be, if only she could see them. Enormous horns protruded from his head, curling up and back. She couldn't help touching her free hand to one, its ridges damaged and worn in various places, conjuring images of battling stags locking antlers in her mind. These abnormalities so consumed her thoughts that she paid little regard to how different his elven features were. She'd never seen one that looked similar to him, or the ones who strolled the corridors she'd toured. " _What_ are you?"  
  
    Her innocence was refreshing. Once she inspected his horns to her satisfaction, Farellion answered, "a demon hunter." He spied an _ah-ha!_ moment flash across the girl's face. She now understood why the satyrs and demons were frightened. "You have more questions?"  
  
    Naturally, she did. "What is this place? Where are we?" Farellion told her about the Black Temple, about Shadowmoon Valley, about the broken planet, Draenor, now called Outland, and how they came to be the way they currently appeared. At this, she was dismayed. She had hoped they were merely in some undiscovered nook of Azeroth, a stone's throw from the broken family she'd so rashly left behind. "When can I go home?" she asked, her question ringing across what felt like an infinite chasm of silence.  
  
    Farellion expected this question and explained without delay. "Darling, you must understand," he began, shaking his head sympathetically, "it's exceedingly difficult to open a way back to Azeroth. It takes a great deal of power that we simply _cannot_ spare." He wasn't being entirely truthful.  After all, it was how he'd gotten her there... not that she would think to press the matter. The glow in her eyes visibly dimmed, an outward reflection of a quiet sadness. "It's not all bad," a smile played at the corners of his lips as he brought a hand to her chin, meeting her gaze. "You'll have me." Predictably, she shrank away from him. "I am a stranger, now, but that will change with time."  
  
    "Why am I here?"  
  
    He chose his words carefully, anticipating resistance typical of youth such as hers. "Unlike so many of my comrades, I've not lost my taste for socialization. I desire a companion," he gestured to the revelers around them. Though they had given the demon hunter a wide and distrustful girth, they carried on merrily, playing instruments, feasting, teasing and laughing amongst themselves. Farellion studied the night elf, gauging her reaction as she tried to understand. "Just as these ladies serve Lord Illidan's loyal blood elves, so, too, will _you_ serve _me_."  
  
    There it was. The rebellion inside her boiled over in a wrinkled brow and clenched jaw when the word _"serve"_ passed his lips a second time. Despite her weakness, she thought to run; he saw it in the way her bony feet braced themselves. Farellion immediately seized her, effortlessly holding her in place. "Hear me, Kal'dorei," he commanded, his powerful hands loosing their grip to instead caress the delicate crest and fall of her shoulders. It lulled her. "You will find I am not a demanding master. For saving your life, I ask only your obedience. Such will not be without its own rewards," he reassured her.  
  
    She offered only a guarded stare as she inwardly weighed her options... _"What options?"_ she thought, correcting the idea that she had any choice but to listen to Farellion. She blinked, her gaze dipping fleetingly to spy a silver manacle resting against her left ankle, the cold metal lending further credence to the looming impression that she hadn't been rescued, but taken prisoner. "What do I have to do?"  
  
    "As I said," he riposted with a nigh undetectable glimmer of impatience, "I merely require your obedience. What that entails, specifically, you will learn later." He watched her lips press together, frustrated by his non-answer. It was time to change the subject. "First and foremost, you must recoup your strength. I will ask nothing of you until you are well. In the meantime, acquaint yourself with the den. And do not wander,"  he added sternly. "The Grand Promenade and lower temple are off limits to you and the rest of your denmates. You cannot go there. It is safer for you here."  
  
    In the days that followed, Adorelyia watched with disappointment as the den's mask of elegance and playfulness slipped away to reveal its true, inhospitable nature... or at least that of its Sin'dorei women. It was the first she'd ever known of their existence. Their awe-inspiring beauty was matched only by their animosity. Sheltered from the evils of the world under the smothering watch of her eldest sister, Faelarra, she never learned of the ancient rivalry between the elven cousins, and so, it bewildered her that they treated her so abhorrently. She was eyed with disgust and subjected to scathing verbal abuse she didn't need to understand to know she was being ridiculed. Her unwillingness to reciprocate their scorn served solely to amplify it.  
  
    Feeling no kinship with her human denmates, kind as they were, Adorelyia grappled with loneliness. Even her bed-sisters were of severe disinterest to her, and she opted instead to sleep in the tree outside the highest den chamber. More than ever, she craved the company of her _real_ sisters, and longed for the clean air, bright sky, and friendly faces she knew. Where she once despised Faelarra's suffocating vigilance, this dreary temple and the small portion of it she had been confined to made her yearn for her sister's nannying.  She realized too late how dearly she regarded those simple, sometimes annoying things, and now, she was paying the price. She learned what it _truly_ meant to be trapped.  
  
    Perhaps most unsettling for Adorelyia was the presence of the Shivarra. The monstrously tall, six-armed seductresses patrolled the terrace armed with swords, alongside their smaller, whip-wielding succubi counterparts, demons all. They  answered to Mother Shahraz, their Shivarran leader, and maintained order within the den by sheer force of intimidation. Adorelyia wondered, if that didn't work, what they might do to coerce obedience. She had noticed the den's servants drifted about in an almost trance-like state, answering every demand and request with robotic acceptance. Could demonic magic be responsible? She wasn't sure she wanted to find out.  
  
    When she was well enough, and no one was looking, she ventured to climb the sanctuary chains. It was a dangerous thing, of course, but their gentle swaying solicited a challenge she couldn't resist. It reminded her of the lofty trees back home, and shook the feelings of isolation and boredom which had plagued her since Farellion left. Satyrs and demons watched below with hungry eyes, wickedly wanting for a slip of her foot, that she might come tumbling down, flesh and blood painting the dilapidated stones. Adorelyia made a show of her confidence and taunted them with a smile.  
  
    She regained weight, muscles became defined around her bones, and she outgrew the dresses given to her even faster than she ruined them with the endless shenanigans her denmates deemed so unladylike. In needing an outlet for her newfound energy, Adorelyia had become something of a nuisance, a cause for the collective groan which sounded from the throats of her peers upon seeing her enter the room. She cared nothing for their debauchery, preferring to chase wildly through the chambers after nothing in particular, and scale the temple walls, among other things. All the while, she wondered when Farellion would come back. It would be nice to have someone to talk to.  
  
    As if sensing her stir-craziness, Farellion finally returned to the Den of Mortal Delights after yet another laborious day of sparring. The usual peace was marred by a courtesan's shrill complaints of her hookah being destroyed, but was otherwise silent. He turned the corner to see a confused Adorelyia cowering before her as their apathetic denmates watched on. He'd heard enough to discern the night elf was being blamed for this petty infraction, accused of wanton recklessness and "savagery," a racial epithet which would be lost on her even if she could understand the whore's nasally whingeing. She swung viciously at Adorelyia with a bolster, hitting her repeatedly over the head and surely wishing her weapon of choice had been something less laughable.  
  
    "That's _enough_ ," Farellion announced his presence and the room fell still. Adorelyia staggered to her feet and ran to him, obscuring herself behind him like a warrior might a shield. The courtesan dropped the pillow and griped at him as he approached, an accusing finger first hurled at Adorelyia and then toward the shattered hookah. Only once that defiant appendage met Farellion's face was her quibbling granted a swift end. He snatched her wrist, twisting her arm until the threat of dislocation urged her onto her knees in submission where she remained. " _Kim'jael_ ," the demon hunter growled at her. She didn't dare glance up from his feet. "Anyone else?" Farellion's eyeless stare sent their nervous gazes scurrying like frightened roaches, searching for something, anything to look at but him. Whatever grievances they may have had were no longer worth airing; not after that. Without another word, Farellion ushered the trembling girl into the gardens.  
  
    "I don't suppose you know what that was about," the demon hunter remarked quietly, loosely intertwining his fingers behind himself as they sauntered through the emptied terrace. The revelers had retreated indoors for the night. The only sounds that remained were the whistling breeze above the temple walls, the lazy flapping of colorful drapery, and, of course, the ever-spitting fountains.  
  
    "I didn't do anything," Adorelyia explained, "she just started yelling at me. I don't know why!"  
  
    "She was quite adamant that you broke something of hers."  
  
    "She's lying! I wasn't even around when it happened, I swear!" Her voice cracked with desperation. She _hadn't_ been there. She'd waited all this time to see Farellion again, the one person who expressed even the slightest interest in keeping her company, and now s he feared he would side with his people, the same people who had been so cruel to her for so long. And then she would have no one.  
  
    "I believe you." These three words, so casually uttered, both shocked her and evaporated her fears in the instant they were spoken. "Am I to trust the words of an unscrupulous wench over those of my companion?" A corner of his mouth pulled up into a smirk and relief engulfed her like a crashing ocean wave. "You look much healthier since last I saw you, but just as filthy," he said, a speculative expression on his face. He noticed the hem of her dress was tattered and frayed in several places, and dirty at the knees. "What sorts of messes have you been getting into?"  
  
    Adorelyia answered his expression in kind, wondering how he could see such things through a blindfold. "It's really boring here. No one wants to do anything interesting, so I just do stuff by myself."  
  
    Farellion begged to differ, but he allowed himself a moment to indulge in her surprising naïveté. "Oh? Like what?"  
  
    "Climbing stuff, mostly," she shrugged nonchalantly. "The chains inside are always fun."  
  
    At this, he was taken aback, and his tone lost its friendliness. He stopped walking. "I thought I told you not to stray from the den."  
  
    " _You_ said I couldn't _go_ to the lower temple,"  she gleefully twirled on her shackled heel to look at Farellion, chewing her bottom lip and failing to restrain a grin. "You never said I couldn't walk _over_ it."  
  
    He couldn't fight the smile which suddenly split his face. The demon hunter wagged a laudative finger at her, and chortled, "clever girl." Adorelyia flashed a proud, toothy grin and they continued through the terrace. "So, you enjoy climbing, hm?"  
  
    "Yeah! I've climbed everything here! The statues are the easiest," she stopped to demonstrate her skill, showing him where the best footholds in the sculptured stone were. It was plain to Farellion that food hadn't been the only thing Adorelyia was starved of. She savored his attention, like a cat basking in the light of the sun after a long rain. She stood on the shoulder of the statue, now, and shouted down to him, "I can see everything from here!"  
  
    "As can I," he sang tellingly, walking onward without so much as looking at her. His answer confused her for but a moment before she realized what he meant. Sufficiently embarrassed, Adorelyia promptly descended the statue, face flushed and unable to lift her gaze from her feet. "I'll see to it you're given a more _suitable_ set of clothes," Farellion mumbled. "I can't imagine you've made many friends here with such unladylike behavior."  
  
    _Unladylike_.  If she had a copper for every time she'd heard _that_ since she'd arrived... "You know, plenty of _ladies_ climb where _I_ come from!"  
  
    He laughed in his throat. "In dresses?"  
  
    Adorelyia gave him an irritated frown. "They just hate me. You saw," she huffed. " Those elves are the worst. Why are they so mean? Most of the time, they're not even nice to _each other_."  
  
    Farellion almost snickered, knowing the conniving nature of the temple concubines with their cliques and rivalries, but something about her statement struck him as odd. "You don't know why the Sin'dorei are hostile to you?" He'd spent long hours contemplating her easily-gained compliance, trying to decide why his declaration of her servitude to him, a blood elf, hadn't been met with instantaneous and violent resistance. It made sense now as the girl shook her head. "Walk with me," he smiled crookedly, "I have a story for you."  
  
    To Adorelyia's delight, Farellion escorted her through the Grand Promenade, presenting her with many an opportunity to climb _more_ trees and statues while he orated a fraction of elven history. He hoped that it might provide some sorely-needed context for the disdain some of her denmates showed her, though he doubted she was giving his speech very much, if any, consideration. She frequently interrupted her master with excited demands that he watch her jump from one thing to the next, and he naturally obliged. Near the end of the rising terrace was another fountain, and the largest tree she'd yet seen within the temple. These trees, she thought, were strange with their swirling trunks and yellow leaves, possessing an unnatural but intriguing sort of beauty. She scaled it with ease, sitting on a high branch and looking over the vast wasteland that was Shadowmoon Valley. Her keen eyes focused on flying creatures in the distance.  
  
    Farellion's voice was suddenly beside her. "Are you listening?"  
  
    Adorelyia flinched, offering him an indifferent glance and then turning her head back. "What are those?"  
  
    The demon hunter squatted, ducking under a branch to see what was so thoroughly fascinating to her. In his spectral sight, light pulsated over the forms of the flying beasts and trailed behind them as they moved. "Dragons," he said quickly, knowing Dragonmaw Fortress stood among the faraway, towering crystal features the Netherwing brood congregated around. "So? Do you understand?"  
  
    "Yeah," the affirmation rolled lazily off her tongue, and her awed stare persisted.  
  
    He smirked, briefly wishing that he still had eyes to roll. "Well, if there is anything I can bring you that might ease your restlessness, you need only name it. It shall be yours."  
  
    This earned her concentration. Dangling feet kicked back and forth as she thought about what could truly stave off her boredom. Her eyes wandered, inevitably returning to the dragons which gracefully circled over the distant plain. "I want a dragon."  
  
    " _What?_ "  
  
    "You _said_ anything," Adorelyia simpered, her eyelids lowering impishly.  
  
    Farellion's mouth opened to continue his protest, but she was right, and he would no longer question whether or not she listened to him when he spoke. Indeed, she knew her way around his words just as well as she knew her way to the tops of trees. A weary sigh escaped him and his noble posture deflated. "Yes, I most certainly did," he conceded. "I'm going to have to choose my words more carefully around you, aren't I?" Her endearing laughter elicited a smile from him and he brushed an admiring hand through her hair. "A dragon it is, then."


End file.
